WARNING: This fanfic contains scenes that are more suited for mature readers as it deals with issues regarding drug dealing, graphic violence and child prostitution.

Growlithes in the Real World: Part I

By The Jolt Master
Inspired by http://Growlithe_2.tripod.com

Officer John Harrison sat his desk, filling out some reports. His hazel eyes read over what he'd written while his dark eyebrows furrowed in thought, as his finger mindlessly brushed his moustache. While he wasn't an investigator for Los Angeles Police Department, he had been following up on leads regarding a drug and prostitution ring run by a vicious family of Colombians. Their street name was Los Lobos Negros, The Dark Wolves. Their real family name was Villalobos-Rodriguez. They've been selling their "goods and services" for the past twelve years and was getting worse every day. Harrison had seen a lot of people get hurt and killed as a result of this family's viciousness, even a lot of young girls were getting carved up like Thanksgiving turkeys because they weren't bringing in enough money from the johns they serviced. Now he had something on them. A young girl in custody was going to testify against them and was seeking police protection. It wasn't much, but it was a start to try to bring the Lobos down and end their reign of terror and crime.

As he continued to fill out the reports, Harrison's partner, Striker, slept on the floor near his desk. He was part of the K-9 unit and was assigned to him six months ago. Striker was a peculiar breed of dog known as a "pocket monster" or "pokémon." More specifically, they were called Growlithes. They were only discovered as a new breed of canines about three years ago. Despite the high sexual innuendo about "pocket monsters," they were quickly utilized by the police force. Harrison didn't understand why at the time. They were about the same size or larger than the German Shepherds that were normally used and about as fierce from what he had heard. A year ago, he found out why. While staking out a hostage situation in an apartment complex, he had accompanied Officer Jan Parker and her K-9 partner, Jackson. The long brown-haired officer had been given him some earplugs to use, but he wasn't told why. The humans had their guns drawn and ready as Harrison kicked in the door. The pokémon jumped in, ready for action. The humans stepped inside, looking for the gunman. Jackson barked once, the earplugs muffled it, but they turned to see that the gunman was holding the hostage in front of him as a human shield, gun pointed to the poor woman's temple. She was crying, but obviously terrified. The gunman was screaming to back off or she would die. Harrison stood his ground, gun pointed at him. Parker was doing the same, but she yelled a command to Jackson. Suddenly, this roar came out of Jackson. Both the gunman and the hostage's eyes widened to the size of tea saucers and ran screaming out of the room they were in. The gunman had even dropped his pistol when he took off. Harrison was simply dumbfounded as Parker shouted to go after him. He snapped to and captured the scared gunman, who was breathing hard and repeating how sorry he was about what he did.

The fire incident was quite an eye-opener too, which happened a few weeks after the roaring event. He was with Parker and Jackson again and the three of them were squared off against a trio of armed men who had robbed a bank. The getaway car they were in had crashed in a high-speed pursuit, killing the driver while the others escaped on foot. They were in a dead-end alley and the thieves were cornered. Parker sent Jackson to face them and shouted a command. Harrison figured the roar command again, but this time, Jackson spewed a cone of fire at the gunmen. All three of them screamed and dropped their guns from the extreme heat. One of the men's arms had caught fire, but was able to put it out quickly. Harrison was in awe of what he just saw and that day made an application to have a K-9 partner of his own.

He finished his reports and picked up the file on the young girl connected to the Lobos and started reading it.

Anne Marie Delane, aged 14, reported missing four months ago to Missing Persons, taken in front of friend's house in broad daylight and hasn't been heard from since. Body shows bruises covering her back, legs and left eye (see attached photos). There is extreme vaginal distress and tearing from being forced to work as a hard-core prostitute. Currently, the parents have been notified, but she has refused to see them for fear of her life and theirs. While she claims to want to help to get the Lobos arrested and convicted, she has been unable or unwilling to provide useful information.

Harrison gritted his teeth as he read the information provided by the detectives and thumbed through the Polaroids taken of her bruises and marks. He brushed a hand over his short dark hair and managed to hold back a tear that had welled up in one eye as he closed the file and stood up. Ten years on the force and he still has trouble dealing with crimes against kids. Striker immediately stood and looked up at him. He scratched the top of Striker's head and gestured for him to come with him to where Anne was.

Walking through the mazes of doors and hallways, they arrived at holding center for runaways and missing people, near the Vice and Homicide Divisions. As a beat cop, he stood out a bit, but no one seemed too interested in him or his partner. He looked through one of the small square windows and saw her lying on a bed. She was looking right back at him. She was a thin girl, developing as girls her age do, long dark hair, light brown skin, hinting at her Hispanic background. Her brown eyes were fearful, yet he could see that her innocence was gone, no...obliterated. He knocked on the door lightly and she called to come in. The two of them entered and she took a seat at the table, which was placed in the middle of the room. He sat down at the head of the table, so they were sitting next to each other at the corner of the table. Striker sat on his haunches next to him, facing the young girl. The girl's eyes softened a bit at seeing the dog, which technically was still a puppy. He cleared his throat to soften it.

"Hello Anne. How are you?"

"Fine," she stated simply, still looking at Striker.

"I'm Officer John Harrison," he said, glancing at the dog, "and this is my partner, Striker."

"Can I pet him?" she asked immediately.

"Sure," he replied. He looked to his partner and nodded towards the girl. The growlithe stepped forward and rested his chin on her leg, where she started to pet and scratch his head a bit tentatively at first, but later relaxed. He looked up at her with his big brown eyes. Norman Rockwell couldn't have painted a better picture.

"Anne," he started again, "may I ask you a couple questions about the Lobos?"

She nodded, but still focused on the cute doggie that was on her leg.

"Have you been able to tell the detectives who kidnapped you or who was responsible for making you do all those bad things with strange men?"

"You mean have sex with those bastards?"

He narrowed his eyes a bit. This wasn't going to be fun. He nodded affirmatively.

"Those bastards who used everything within arm's reach to stick into me, thinking that I was enjoying myself when I wanted to scream to stop. And when I did, I was slapped and beaten?! Are those the bastards you're talking about?"

She looked like she might start crying, but right now, the steely look in her eye was a bit unnerving, especially for a 14-year-old girl. He replied quietly.

"Who did it you? What's his name?"

She stopped right there, then look down at Striker. He whimpered a little, as if on cue. She softened again. Her voice was quiet.

"Pero or Pierro, I don't remember..."

"¿El Perro?" <"The Dog?">

She nodded quickly. He pulled a photograph out of her file and showed her. The photograph showed a Hispanic man, about 35-40, heavy set with short black hair and a long scar on his left cheek. She glanced up and nodded, identifying the man. Harrison looked at the picture Dario "El Perro" Villalobos and unconsciously wished he could add another scar, to make his face even. He put it away before the vengeful thought could even enter his mind. He leaned forward a bit, tentatively taking her hand. She took her hand away quickly. It was apparent now that the scars were going to be very deep for a very long time. He prayed that she'll have the courage to testify when he caught the sorry bastard who did this to her.

"We're going to catch him, Anne," he said softly, "and he will pay dearly for what he did. To you and to all those other girls too."

She furrowed her brows hard at him, trying to hold back her tears, trying desperately to be brave. Striker then jumped and placed his front paws on the chair, between her legs. He then nuzzled her, growling softly. This was too much for her and she wrapped her arms around him and cried heavily into his chest of white fur. Harrison took a quiet, deep breath, balling his fist up tightly. Now, more than ever, he wanted to crack some skulls.

Later on, he spoke with Detective Werden and explained what he had found out. Werden was a tall man and built like a brickhouse. He was dressed in a simple black tie, dress slacks and blue dress shirt. His thinning blond hair and stark blue eyes did little to conceal how pissed he was about the whole thing because it was his case. The lengthy argument finally settled and Harrison apologized. Werden did too, eventually, but that happened after he left, contacted Anne's parents to come and get their daughter. When he came back, he had calmed down some. Striker wasn't too happy to see him, but remained quiet, growling softly.

"If you ever do that again, I'll have your ass busted down to a cadet, Harrison!"

"We're on the same team here, Detective," he replied calmly. "Who cares about how the information was obtained? We've got it and now we can go and nail El Perro."

"Yeah, yeah...and if we're lucky, the D.A. might be able to convince him to turn against his family. I know the drill. But you do **not** pull a stunt like that again. Not without consulting with me first. You got that?"

He nodded quietly. Striker looked up at Harrison, then back at Werden and growled his discontent with the detective. Harrison shushed him and scratched his head to calm him down. Werden looked at the growlithe a bit warily and then left the room. He called over his shoulder.

"Come on. Let's go ignore some red lights."

Harrison perked up a bit and smiled at his partner. Striker seemed to smile too as they left to go bust El Perro.

Forty-five minutes later, the police had surrounded an abandoned warehouse in the Mission District, near the L.A. River. SWAT teams were called in, but Harrison was fully suited in body armor and protective headgear. The headgear was specially modified to dampen the roar effect, should he command Striker to use it. Werden was barking orders to the beat cops and the SWAT commander.

"Okay, listen up! I want the SWAT team to charge the front door and take prisoners. I want Dario Villalobos alive. These men, and him especially, are extremely dangerous. Do NOT underestimate their resourcefulness. That's how they've stayed out of prison for this long. Okay, Harrison. Pick three guys. You guys and your dog are coming with me to the side door. The rest of you, I want this freaking rat-hole sealed tight with no escapes, got it?"

There was a general agreement mixed in with the determination to take them down. The stern faces of justice looked to the warehouse and hoped to do their part well. Well enough to stay alive and keep their comrades alive. The group of six headed quickly for the side entrance, guns drawn in case they're found out before they can get the jump on the bad guys. They reached their destination and waited. With a loud crash, the front door was kicked in. There were a few yells and gunfire rang out. Werden kicked in the door and his group charged in with Harrison and Striker taking point. Striker saw a lone guard as the man whirled around and the pokémon pounced on him, taking his wrist into his teeth and crushing it. The man screamed as Harrison jumped at him and struck him across the face. The guard was out cold. Harrison wrestled Striker off the unconscious man, quickly praising him for his work. It was relatively quiet on this side of the warehouse, so Harrison simply gestured to one of the other officers to disarm and cuff him, to help maintain the relative silence. The rest proceeded to hunt down more. The growlithe seemed to hear or smell something, so the humans followed him. As they approached a door, vaguely human noises could be heard, along with some gruff laughter. Suddenly, a little girl screamed in terror. Without hesitation, Harrison kicked in the door and the five of them invaded the makeshift office/bedroom. Commands to freeze were barked at the seven armed men in the room. Harrison glanced to his right and the image he saw would haunt him to his dying day. A large partially dressed man was forcing himself on a little girl. She couldn't have been older than twelve and her efforts to fight him off were futile. Harrison gritted his teeth and looked back at the other men who didn't look like they were going to listen to the officers. He acted quickly, tapping a catch button on his helmet to drop shields over his ears.

"Striker! Roar attack!!"

With that, Striker breathed in strongly and let loose a piercing roar at the gunmen. Some of them got some shots off, but then the screams of terror began as fear set in and they tried to escape. Werden and one of the officers moved quickly to tackle the runners while the other officer lay on the floor, clutching his bloody shoulder. Striker charged and brought down a couple of them to help out. Harrison turned his attention back to the large man, who had already grabbed a gun and took a shot at him. The shot glances off the shoulder of his body armor. His eyes widen at almost being hit as he quickly aims and squeezes the trigger. The first shot entered his forehead, pushing out the back half of his brain through the hole the bullet created when it exited the skull. The second shot hit him in the chest, through his heart. The large man's brain only registered that his heart had exploded a split second before he hit the floor, then all was black. Blood poured out of his head quickly, forming a crimson halo. The little girl just screamed at the top of her lungs and shook uncontrollably. Her eyes had swallowed too much horror and cared little for her state of undress. Harrison went to her and tried to calm her down, telling her over and over that she was safe and that she can leave. Striker leapt up to the bed and looked at her. Almost immediately, she stopped, but her breathing was hurried and shallow from fear. Harrison quickly covered her up with the blood stained bed sheet. She held it softly to herself, not taking her eyes of his partner. Striker went up and nuzzled her head and she simply cried as she wrapped her free arm around his neck. The pokémon sniffed a couple times, then his head turned to see the body on the floor. Did he understand what happened or what he did to her? Harrison couldn't be sure, but at that moment, Striker moved away from her, got off the bed and sat on his haunches. The look in his eye wasn't right. Some spark that was there before seemed to be gone. The girl seemed to have come back to reality for a moment and Harrison was able to get her and the wounded officer out the door with the help of the remaining officer. Now, just Werden and he remained. Harrison quickly radioed to the others outside that officers were coming with the girl and needed medical attention and clothing. The humans looked at the growlithe and could almost feel the depression he was feeling. Unfortunately, they had a job to do and the three of them continued their hunt for El Perro, while a blazing gun battle could be heard through the thin walls.

Striker led the way, sniffing out El Perro. Werden made a quiet call on his radio to get some backup to their location. The ETA would be five minutes, but the trio would proceed with the capture. They approached a closed door and Striker's ears perked up and gave a little growl. Suddenly, shots rang out and the door was punctured with silver dollar sized bullet holes. Werden yelled in pain and hit the floor. A yell came from behind the door.

"Tengo una chica aquí y la mataré si usted intenta cualquier cosa!"
<"I've got a girl here and I'll kill her if you try anything at all!">

Harrison had flattened himself against the nearest wall, narrowly missing being hit. With that, he thrust a boot to the doorknob, busting the door open. Before he could even react, the man fired another shot and popped him in an unprotected part of the collarbone, cracking it two. Harrison hit the floor, bleeding profusely. He groaned in pain as he looked at El Perro's scarred face as he laughed. From the floor, he could see that Striker was facing off with El Perro. The growlithe seemed to understand that he had a gun, so he stood his ground, growling fiercely. El Perro laughed some more and pushed his hostage into a nearby wall. The prostitution ringleader took aim to shoot the pokémon, grinning evilly at him.

"Ahora... usted muere, usted estúpido pequeño mutante."
<"Now...you die, you stupid little mutant.">

"Striker," Harrison said weakly. The growlithe's right ear turned to better hear his partner. "Fire..attack."

Striker took in a heavy breath and expelled a cone of blazing fire and heat. The man screamed in terror and pain as his body became consumed with flame. The gun went off a couple times, barely missing the pokémon as he leapt to protect the screaming girl from the burning man's flailing arms. Layers of skin burned away from El Perro's face, eventually exposing parts of his skull, as if a large animal had gashed his face open with a massive claw. The flaming body eventually collapsed and continued to burn. The girl clutched the growlithe strongly. Striker started barking loudly, obviously seeing that he wasn't going anywhere. Harrison painfully reached for his radio and depressed the talk button.

"Two officers...down...listen for...Striker's barking."

Two months later, Harrison was sitting at his desk. His partner was resting on the floor near his chair. As he busily worked on his report on the El Perro raid, where the officer was deemed an instrumental hero in finding him and stopping his prostitution ring, an unmarked manila envelope arrived at his desk. After a few moments, he finished his report and then sorted through the incoming mail. He eyed the unmarked envelope curiously and then opened it. It was a simple letter.

Officer John Harrison- Several months ago, you and your police department attacked my operations, arrested and killed a number of my employees, including my nephew, Dario. I have been grieving with my sister these past two months and now, I am ready to seek retribution against you and your friends in the police force. -- Vicente Villalobos

Harrison's heart thumped loudly in his ears as he read it over a couple more times. He stood and looked towards the captain's office. He called out to it.

"Captain...Captain! We've got trouble!"

Growlithes in the Real World: Part II

"Striker!! Fire attack! Under the door! Under the door!!"

The growlithe stood steadfastly in front of the door as the Columbian assassins pounded on it mercilessly with their fists. Striker took a deep breath and exhaled a wide stream of fire under the door. Numerous curses and yells were heard beyond it as the flames licked at their feet. Harrison had already opened the glass doors to the balcony and stepped out onto the terrace. Looking down showed a twenty-foot drop to relative safety, provided he didn't snap something in his ankle or leg. Stuffing his sidearm into his pants, he stepped up to the gated railing, calling back to his partner.

"Striker! Let's go! C'mon, move it!!"

With that, the officer leapt. He glanced back to see his partner turn and dart for the balcony. The growlithe ran for his life as the door to his apartment turned to Swiss cheese at the hands of a shotgun. Harrison lost sight of his partner as he hit the ground. He managed to land on his feet, but the pain made him feel three inches shorter. He looked up and saw his airborne partner. Without even thinking about it, he darted under him and caught the big puppy. Of course, he got slammed into the ground for his efforts. They quickly shook off the impact, stood up and ran like bats out of hell. The assassins had already reached the balcony and were firing indiscriminately, but the gods were with the good guys and they evaded the hailstorm of bullets.

They kept running until they reached a forested area and ducked among the trees. Harrison looked behind him and saw a dark SUV with bright headlights screech to a stop at the edge of the forest. He could hear the assassins jumping out of the vehicle and yell in Spanish at each other. A translation wasn't necessary as he hissed at Striker to scatter in the other direction. Harrison dashed to the right and hid behind a wide tree as Striker took off to the left. He pulled out his gun from his pants and dropped the clip. Seven bullets. He kicked himself for not making sure the clip was full when he got home. With all the other assassinations that had happened, he obviously hadn't been thinking. Now it could cost him his life.

He crouched and popped the clip back into the gun and was ready for action. He peeked around the tree and saw three of them, about twenty yards away; their shadows long and far ahead of them from the lights of the truck, armed with machine guns and pistols. Something tickled the back of his mind that didn't seem right about them, but he couldn't worry about that now. His eyes narrowed as he drew a bead on one of them and squeezed the trigger. His aim was true and his target caught the bullet with his torso, which caused him to land flat on his back and expire. The other two turned and blindly fired in Harrison's direction. He darted back behind the tree. Bullets coated the tree he was behind and many others whistled past, hitting other trees. He knew his partner was pretty smart and they had trained for this sort of situation. The training now paid off as he heard a loud bark and a scream of terror. The shooting stopped and he took that moment of quiet to silence the other gunman. Two shots rang out and the third guy dropped. The one that Striker took down seemed to have fainted, but he was still growling fiercely at him. Apparently, he didn't like his partner being shot at. The growlithe paused and sniffed the air. Harrison was about to stand when the hairs on the back of his head bristled hard. His eyes widened as he whirled around quickly, only to find a gun barrel pointed at his cheek. Harrison could only cuss to himself as only his eyes could turn to look at the wiry Columbian, vaguely recognizing him from some mug shots he reviewed last week. He wished desperately that he had listened to that tickling feeling he had earlier.

"Gusto de verte, cabrón. Don Vicente estará muy contento con mígo después de que tire un velazo en tu cabeza."
<"Nice to see you, jerkoff. Don Vicente will be pleased with me after I put a bullet into your head.">

Harrison heard his heart thumping in his ears and began to sweat profusely. He needed way out.

Think, think! Dear God! He just cocked the trigger! Help, someone, anyone, I don't want to die! Please some--

Suddenly there was a loud bark and Striker pummeled the gunman. The man pulled the trigger and hit the tree instead, missing the back of his head by mere inches. Harrison drew a sharp breath and pointed his 9mm at the man on the ground. The gunman had somehow managed to force the pokémon off him and was sitting up. Harrison squeezed the trigger and emptied the clip into him. He barely saw parts of his face being ripped away as he died screaming. Harrison slumped against the protective tree and worked to get control of his mind. Having "near-kill" experiences were never fun for him. He could feel the anxiety of having almost lost his life bearing down on his soul as Striker walked over to him and whimpered a bit. Harrison hugged him strongly and thanked his partner profusely, who barked in return. After a few minutes of bonding, Harrison stood up and took the assassins' SUV into town. His apartment wasn't safe anymore.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Los Angeles Police Department. How may I help you?" a woman spoke.

"Hi. Officer John Harrison. ID#453957. I need to speak with Captain Mark Patakas please."

"John Harri--? Wait...your apartment got shot up, right?"

"Yeah, it did," sounding a little puzzled. "How'd you know that?"

"The 911 dispatchers let us know. The fire department had to put out some blaze that was started there. Are you okay? The other cops are getting scared.... I am too."

"Yeah, yeah...Striker and I are fine. And don't be scared, sweetheart. We're gonna nail the bastards. Cop killers are never appreciated by anyone, especially us."

His voice was filled with determination and confidence. Putting on a façade wasn't that hard to do. She sounded a little relieved to hear that and then she transferred him to the captain. While he waited, he held out his hand to see it visibly shaking. He knew it was the adrenaline wearing off, but he wondered briefly if the fear of losing his life was mixed into it.

"Harrison! Jesus, are you and Striker okay?"

"Yeah, we're okay Cap. We're surviving. Anything new from Villalobos?"

"No, nothing. He seems to just want to kill us off one by one."

"Dammit," he hissed. "Two weeks ago this started and he's nailed three of us. I almost became number four tonight!"

"I know, I know, John. Just relax and hang in there. Are you able to come to the station?"

"I've got their truck, so I could get there in about twenty minutes. I'm definitely feeling a little naked out here with an empty gun."

"Good. Get here as quick as you can. Don't screw around. Got it?"

"Yessir," he replied then hung up the payphone, sighing with relief. He looked down at his partner who was sitting on his haunches, stiff as a sentry and just as vigilant.

"C'mon Striker. I'm starved."

He barked loudly in response and followed him into a McDonald's a couple storefronts from the payphone. Harrison hid the gun inside his shirt, so he wouldn't cause a scene. Thankfully, he saw no one in line as he entered, so he and Striker went right up to the counter to order.

"Uh, hi. I'd like a Big Mac combo and four plain cheeseburgers with cheese and lettuce only to go."

"Uh, okay," the kid replied. "But I can't serve you because you have your dog inside and you're not blind or disabled."

Harrison stared at him for a long moment, then reached into his back pocket and showed him his badge.

"Official police business. Now gimme my goddamn food. I'm not in the mood to screw around."

"Sir," he started nervously, "I can't do it. It's a health risk."

At that moment, Striker stood up on his hind legs, placing his forepaws on the counter. He stood just a few inches shorter than Harrison. The growlithe stared at Ronald McDonald's Chosen One and suddenly, his nostrils flared and two tiny jets of fire ejected from his nose. The kid jumped then quickly worked to get their order together. Striker then went back to the floor and waited. Harrison could only smirk as he put the money on the counter, when suddenly, Striker growled. He looked down at his partner, then whirled around to face a casually dressed man who approached him. Again, the hair on the back of his neck bristled as a very stocky looking Hispanic stood before him and smiled. He had a rather toothy grin, just the sort of smile that makes you want to deck him. His English was clear as he spoke.

"Officer John Harrison?"

"Yes," he answered tentatively, but tensed for action.

"Good."

With that, he threw a fast punch to Harrison's gut, but quickly withdrew it, shaking his hand from having struck the gun under his shirt. Harrison responded by grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. He quickly moved and slammed the assailant's head into the stainless steel counter. The man then managed to free himself from Harrison's grip, swung around quickly and cracked him in the jaw. Blood spilled through his teeth after taking the blow. The lawman then took the initiative and threw a right hook, only to be blocked. He counterstriked, only to meet with air. The two men continued to exchange blows, taking hits to the face and kicks to the knees. The stocky man threw another punch, but Harrison caught it and twisted it behind his back again, furiously working to subdue him. It almost worked except for the backwards head-butt that broke his nose. Harrison writhed away from him in pain, blood gushing from his nose. The man kidney-punched him and Harrison was knocked to the floor, bleeding even worse and feeling dizzy. Striker managed to get into the melee now and pounced on the crook, taking him down. Harrison watched them struggle, but the hefty man pushed the pokémon off, throwing him over the counter. Striker gave a yelp and landed on the floor, near where the boy was filling out their order. The man laughed and Striker jumped up to the counter. Harrison quickly plugged his ears.

"Striker! Roar attack!!"

Striker drew in a breath and roared loud and strong. The attacker shook visibly and scrambled to get away, but tripped against one of the trash bins and fell unconscious when he hit the floor. The rest of the patrons and employees fled for their lives, leaving the place completely empty. He looked at his partner. The blood covering his lips and chin and the dogged look in his face told mountains about how the man's life was going.

"Have I told you lately that you're my hero?"

Striker barked his approval, then jumped down to lick the blood off his face. Harrison stopped him because it hurt, but he smiled. Glancing at the body on the floor near the trash made him smile a bit more. He scratched his partner's head.

"C'mon. We've got a guest coming to dinner."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A few hours later, Harrison was lying on a bunk bed in one of the holding rooms for runaway kids. It happened to be the same one that Anne Delane had used a few months ago. He had an ice bag on his nose and Striker was resting on the floor. Striker's ears perked up, then his head did, looking to the door. He whimpered quietly a couple times and Harrison bolted up, ready for action. All Patakas saw when he entered was Harrison bonking his head on the upper bank and cussing loudly. He smirked to himself as he closed the door behind him.

"Take it easy, cowboy."

"I forgot where I was," Harrison stated it flatly, despite the sheepish smirk on his face. He was glad the ice bag covered most of his face to hide his embarrassment. Patakas sat down on the cot, scratching Striker's head as he did so.

"And some of us would like to forget, I'm sure. But right now, I'm not here to humor you. We managed to get a little information on the guy broke your nose."

Harrison propped himself up to listen to what his captain had to say. His nose was visibly swollen and as red as a cherry. It would only be a matter of time before the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer jokes would start.

"Mr. Arturo Hildago," started Patakas, "is hired muscle for the Villalobos clan. In fact, he proudly stated that he was working for Vicente directly and was ordered to find you, in the event the other guys failed to kill you."

"Well, they get failing marks for interior design too...I heard what those bastards did to my apartment." He groaned a bit, then laid back down on the cot, putting the ice bag back on his nose.

"Is Hildago a boxer? He was a strong SOB."

"Yep. He was an ex-prize fighter who was suspended indefinitely from the South American boxing circuit for brutality. It even gets better, John," Patakas continued, "he talked about Vicente himself coming to Los Angeles to oversee how things are going with his operations and his revenge war on us. We've even got an address and date of arrival."

Harrison peeked out from under the ice bag and looked at him. Patakas had been on the force at least twenty years and was recently transferred from the Rampart Division, which was now undergoing some very nasty publicity and Internal Affairs overhaul. He knew from his limited exposure that getting information from organized crime families was next to impossible. Thus, he was sure he didn't want to know how he got that information, despite believing very strongly that his captain was a quality policeman. Then he remembered the obese man forcing himself on the twelve-year-old girl and gritted his teeth. Which was the lesser evil here? The unlawful means of getting the bad guy or the bad guy himself? Perhaps they have become what they dreaded most.

"When's he going to arrive, Cap?"

"Tomorrow evening. The address is in the Elysian Park area, near Dodger Stadium."

"Alright...Striker and I'll be there with bells on."

"Good. And with your nose so bright, you can be the lead reindeer."

The captain stood up at that moment, chuckling to himself as Harrison groaned at the joke. Striker simply wagged his tail as the captain left the room. After a while, they both went to sleep. Tomorrow night was going to a long and tough night. They were going to need all the rest they could get, so that justice might prevail.

Growlithes In The Real World: Part III

11:53pm

"All right, men! Suit up for battle and report to the briefing room for your assignments. We'll be taking down some drug dealing scum in two hours! So move it!"

The captain's order echoed through the locker room common area above the din of slamming metal locker doors and chatter. Harrison put on his body armor and strapped it down tightly. He had already put on his male protection in the men's shower area, then his clothes before he put on the leg armoring. Parker cussed as she tried to strap on her body armor. Jackson watched her, as did Striker. Apparently, Harrison wasn't that interesting to look at. He stepped over to her and helped with the strapping.

"There ya go."

"Thanks," she smiled back at him, but something in her bright green eyes gave her away.

"You okay, Parker?"

The smile faded a bit.

"I just...I just get a little nervous when I do this. Especially when I do this. I'm just not sure what's going to happen to me. That's all. Just the usual crap about going on a big raid."

"I hear ya, Jan. I'm feeling a bit queasy myself, but I know it'll pass. It always does."

"Thanks John," she sighed, the smile returning as she and Jackson went to the briefing room. Harrison lingered a moment to watch the attractive woman leave, then put his steel toed combat boots on. Dressed like a modern day gladiator preparing for the arena, he slammed the locker door and the partners went to briefing room.

12:24am

Striker and Harrison arrived at the large briefing room. It looked like a large classroom, but right now, it was standing room only. The two managed to find some space in the back as Captain Patakas began his speech, pointing to the large map of a forty-room home behind him.

"Listen up! We've got a major opportunity to bust one of the biggest drug dealers that's residing at this house and I don't want anyone getting hurt because they weren't listening to the plan. Now, I just want to make a quick note about Officer John Harrison and his partner, Striker. The two of them managed to bring in the guy who gave us all this information. So, if you would please, a quick round of applause for their brave work."

The other officers turned and applauded them; some cheering as Harrison turned a tad red, waving off the applause. Striker seemed to smile as he looked around at the clapping policemen. The captain continued.

"And despite the fact that he didn't listen to me about not screwing around, thankfully all he suffered was a broken nose. So how's the nose there, Rudolph?"

The captain smiled some as the other officers chuckled at the reindeer reference. Harrison couldn't help but to smile and shake his head. He gave the okay sign to the captain coupled with a look of "I'll get you for this." The captain settled the crowd down and became very serious.

"Okay, guys. This is it. We have three strike teams. One through the front door; one through the back door; and the last one through the garage door entrance, if it's open. The DEA will be offering some assistance, but they don't have enough manpower to be able to add significant numbers to the teams. They were, however, able to give us a picture of what Don Vicente Villalobos looks like."

The captain gestured to the slide screen he had pulled down and turned on the overhead projector. The picture was a fuzzy black and white photograph of a dapper Colombian man in his forties. He had a moustache, thinning hairline and an aquiline nose. It was apparent that he was of European descent, unlike the hired hands that surrounded him. He shouldn't be too tough to spot.

"This is the man we want to keep alive at just about any cost. The guards and other men on his payroll are extremely dangerous and quite resourceful. Killing cops is *not* something they are afraid to do. In fact, to date about fourteen have lost their lives in the line of duty, trying to stop this bastard's operations. This includes three of our own that were killed by assassination during the past couple months. Do NOT, I repeat, do NOT try to be a hero and do it yourself. Call for back up. *Wait* for back up and then proceed. As I've been told, Don Vicente will be at this house at around one in the morning and it's midnight-thirty right now. Be safe out there and take them down. Take them down hard."

1:22am

They arrived about four houses down from the mansion they were about to invade. Technical SWAT guys were scanning the UHF channels to find the security camera frequency that Villalobos was using. Once it was found, they recorded about five minutes of tape and looped it so that it would be on continuous play of just clear grass and sidewalk - the perfect cover for invading policemen. The teams quickly crossed the lawn, all led by DEA agents, except for Harrison's team, in which it was just seven cops, including Parker, Jackson, Striker and him. He happened to glance at his watch: 1:31am as they stood by the side door, waiting for the go from the captain.

1:28am

Jorge didn't like his job much and neither did his friend Marcos. Staring at security camera screens all day was damn boring. Nothing ever changed. Back and forth, back and forth. Even the cat was doing the same thing. Just running out onto the lawn, then chasing his tail in the middle, then darting off. Jorge stood up and looked very closely at the front lawn video. Marcos walked back in at that moment.

"Qué pasa, hombre?"
<"What's up, man?">

"No sé... hay un gato que corre sobre la yarda y después se desaparece."
<"I don't know...there's a cat that keeps running out onto the lawn and then disappears.">

Marcos looked at the screen and saw the cat. It ran, then when it was near the edge the screen, it disappeared.

Marcos blinked and Jorge just looked at him.

"Y sabes? Es el mismo modelo cada vez."
<"And you know? It's the same pattern every time....">

Marcos pondered this for a moment, then his eyes lit up in fear.

"Dígale al jefe , llego la policía!"
<"The police are here! Tell the boss!">

Don Vicente was quietly having a drink as the head of his American operations and half-brother, Juan Rodriguez, offered some entertainment of two young girls having a sexual encounter with each other. He was enjoying himself quite a bit as he usually does with this sort of entertainment. Even in spite one of the underlings having to put a gun to the heads of these girls to motivate them, he didn't care. The girls needed to broaden their experience, their heterosexuality notwithstanding. They should be taught at a young age what their place was in their world and to remember it well. The bartender picked up a blinking phone and talked quietly into it. His eyes widened a bit as he handed to Rodriguez. Rodriguez took the receiver, listened, then cussed under his breath. Handing the phone back to the bartender, he turned the music off and spoke first to Don Vicente, then to everyone else, his voice harsh with fury.

"Lo siento, Don Vicente. Llego la policia y tenemos que pararlos. Máteles sin misericordia! La seguridad de Don Vicente es su preocupación más grande y no la fallarás! Ahora muevense a mátarlos, a esos bastardos del policía! AHORA MISMO!"

<"I'm sorry, Don Vicente. The police have arrived and they must be stopped. Kill them all without mercy! Don Vicente's safety is your biggest concern and you will not fail it! Now move it and kill those police bastards! NOW!>

As the men quickly rushed out to stop the LAPD, he cordially gestured for Don Vicente to be led to a saferoom. The girls were left to their own devices as they quickly got dressed, trying to force their minds around what they were just doing with each other.

1:33am

A single voice was heard on all the communicator units.

"Go."

Three points of entry are taken by force and met with strong resistance immediately. Gunfire erupted everywhere, echoing through the mansion coupled with the screams of dying men. The body armor gives the lawmen some advantage against the heavily armed henchmen. After the initial melee, only Parker, Harrison and the two growlithes remained, the other three were wounded and bleeding profusely. Harrison radioed in for them to be picked up and they proceeded into the house to find Don Vicente.

Rooms were searched. They covered each other. The pokémon sniffed at doors, but found nothing. As the four of them were about enter the main foyer, both of the growlithes perked up, hearing something. Suddenly, a lone gunman turned the corner and fired a volley of bullets at them. Harrison crouched quickly, his eyes wide as he opened fire on him. His shots hit the wall close to the gunman, scattering debris into his eyes, blinding him. Striker jumped him and locked his teeth around his throat and shook viciously. An audible crack could be heard and the gunman went limp. Harrison took a sigh of relief, but heard Parker's voice bubbling next to him. He turned to see Jackson's lifeless body lying on the floor, several bloody entry wounds in the side. Coupled with that, Parker had taken one in the throat. The blood bubbles popped along with air wheezing through the hole as she tried to speak, but her voice was muted. He went to her and cradled her in his arms, his lips pursed with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to save her. Their gazes locked onto each other, both of their fears were understood. With that, the light left her eyes and her last breath escaped with a quiet groan. He closed her eyes and laid her back down.

1:38am

"Numbers fifteen and sixteen were claimed by Don Vicente." His voice was remorseful and quiet.

The radio crackled. "Who were they?"

"Parker and Jackson."

There was a long silence, then an acknowledgement of his statement and confirmation that backup was on the way. Harrison chose not to wait and stood up, looking at his partner. Striker paced very nervously. His fur bristled and his body tensed, seeming to avoid Jackson's lifeless form. Before Harrison could even say anything, Jackson's body burst into flames, completely consuming the pokémon. Harrison jumped out into the main foyer with Striker as the body burned quickly, turning into a pile of ashes. His eyes were filled utter amazement at what he just witnessed. The show wasn't over though. Striker started to grow in size and his fur expanded on his head, chest, and tail. Harrison scuffled away from him, not sure what was going on. A quick burst of flame spread all over him and then it was finished. Harrison was awestruck by Striker's new, almost regal appearance. He was the size of an adult mountain lion.

"Sweet Jesus," he muttered.

Striker turned and barked strongly. Harrison almost jumped out of his skin. It was definitely louder than before. Maybe he was a lion, but the bark was distinctively dog-like. The Arcanine padded over to him and licked his face. Harrison chuckled nervously as he petted him back, looking him over.

"Damn boy. The K-9 instructors never told us about this."

Striker growled lightly at the comment, but lightly was relative and it made Harrison nervous, in spite of recognizing the tone as a friendly one. He knew it would take a little time to get used to his "new" partner, but that was fine by him. He stood up and hit the switch to cover his ears; although he wasn't sure it would protect him from Striker's roar attack. But that wasn't important, they had to find Vicente and the two of them went off to find him.

He was sure that all the rooms had been searched upstairs, but they trotted up there anyways. Other cops walked by, escorting and dragging prisoners downstairs to be booked. Everyone gave incredulous looks at the evolved pokémon. Harrison tried not to be self-conscious, although there wasn't any reason he should be. There seemed to be a lot more rooms than the front of the house would indicate. Of course, the floor plans he saw were just for the first floor. The Arcanine sniffed around at some of the doors, not finding anything. The din of the other officers died away as they continued down the hall, even more so with his ear guards down. Suddenly, Striker stopped at one of the doors and whimpered at Harrison. Harrison nodded and drew out his gun. He took a breath and broke the door in, his booted foot pulverizing the doorjamb. It was the master bedroom and two young semi-nude girls were sitting on it, embracing each other, almost reluctantly. They looked like they might be engaged with each other sexually, except for the machine gun pointed at their heads. The gunman was dressed in a nice, but simple black silk suit. His back was to him. Harrison gritted his teeth for action to take down Don Vicente.

"Striker! Roar attack!!"

The roar that followed could at the very least be described as a thunderous booming. The very floor shook with the vibration of the bellowing Arcanine. Harrison could feel himself losing his nerve as his gun shook in his hand, but he held on as tightly as he could. The others simply started screaming for their lives. The girls, not concerned about the machine gun, but the pokémon's roar as they both dove off the bed and scrambled to get under it. The gunman, to Harrison's surprise, didn't turn around, but just screamed in terror as he dropped the gun and tried to throw himself out the window. Thankfully, Harrison managed to gather enough willpower to stop him and throw him to the ground as Striker stopped roaring. Harrison's nerve returned, but was sweating profusely. His gun was pointed to the man on the ground.

"Freeze! Vicente Villalobos, you are under arrest for the crimes of murder, conspiracy, and drug possession with intent to distribute. Lace your fingers together behind your head."

The face-down man did so, as though he knew the drill. At that moment, a swarm of officers filled the room. Trask was the first to speak up.

"What the hell was that?!"

"That was Striker," Harrison replied, nodding to the Arcanine as the pokémon sat on his haunches. He looked at Trask, as though expecting something. Trask looked at the beast and mumbled a curse to himself, then he clicked his communicator.

"Yeah, uh, that was Striker roaring."

The radio squawked. "Striker?! He can't roar *that* loud!" Patakas' voice came over. "The tech guys four houses down heard that!"

"He can now, sir," Trask replied, releasing the talk button on his radio. "Damn! He's huge!"

Another one of the policeman cuffed the well-dressed man on the floor, then turned him over. Harrison's eyes went wide, then he cussed furiously, slamming his pistol back into his holster. The other officers looked at the man and realized why he was cussing.

It was one of Vicente's underlings in his clothes. The scared Hispanic man simply looked around at all the cops, wondering what his boss got him into and if he was going to be tried for his crimes. At that moment, Harrison turned grabbed him, forcefully picking him up. His face was scrunched in anger as he fiercely growled his question:

"Where is he?!"

The man panicked and started jabbering in Spanish. The few that could translate shook their heads, not able to understand what he was going on about. Harrison dropped him unceremoniously. He couldn't believe how close he was to Don Vicente. He could practically taste him in his mouth; his nose filled with his cologne. He ---

Smelled him?

He looked between his partner and the man on the floor, then knelt down beside him, grabbing his jacket and pulling up and away from the man. The man gained a look of fear, thinking he was about to be beaten.

"Striker. Here boy. Smell this."

The Arcanine padded over to him. The man started screaming loudly, thinking now he was going to be fed to the beast. One of the other officers quickly knelt and put a forceful palm over his mouth and held him strongly to keep him from trying to kick himself away. With the screams muffled, Striker sniffed the jacket a few times. A quiet whimper escaped from his throat, but he kept sniffing up and down the jacket, the shirt, the pants, going back up to the collar. He lingered there a long moment, backed up a step, then sneezed all over the handcuffed man. Some of the officers let out a little chuckle, then immediately shut up when Striker barked a couple times loudly. Harrison smiled.

"You got it, boy? You got the scent? Okay, let's go!"

1:54am

A team of officers started searching the sizable backyard. It was a beautiful place with tall bushes, various statues, an Olympic sized pool, and even a big lawn a couple teams of kids could play football on. Unfortunately, it also meant a lot of hiding places too, if he was still on the grounds. Striker pulled strongly, heading to the huge lawn. Captain Patakas was with them, along with ten other cops and DEA agents. He directed them to fan out as the pokémon sniffed away, following the trail. Harrison's flashlight caught sight of a small shed. Striker pulled towards it. Patakas saw it also and called over three cops for cover. Once they stood outside the doorway, Patakas gave the nod and Harrison thrust a boot into the door, turning it into splinters. Flashlight beams filled the tiny shack. The shriveled man on the cot curled up even more in fear, his back to them. He cried out in Spanish as guns cocked to fire.

"Sanchez, front and center. What's he saying?" asked Patakas.

Sanchez stepped forward and inquired about who he was.

"Soy Juan Contreras, el jardinero. No me por favor no me regreses a Méjico. Soy enfermo y mi familia necesita el dinero que les envío." The man then coughed a couple times as he finished his sentence.

"He said that he's Juan Contreras, the gardener. He's sick and his family needs the money he sends back to them. Apparently, he thinks we're Immigration because he doesn't want to be sent back to Mexico. "

"Ask him if he saw or heard anyone come by here tonight," said Patakas. Sanchez made the inquiry of the gardener.

"No, he visto a nadie. Pero oí a alguen pasar corriendo... puede haber sido hace diez o veinte minutos. No estoy seguro.", Juan replied.

"He heard someone run by about ten or twenty minutes ago, but he's not sure. He didn't actually see him," translated Sanchez.

"Okay," said Patakas, looking pretty disgusted. "See if you can get him down to the station and we'll see if he can provide more information on what he heard."

Sanchez nodded as he walked in, holstering his gun, and ordered the sick man to stand up and go with him. The man coughed a few times, then started to roll out of bed. The others, including Harrison, walked away. Striker was still pulling pretty hard, barking loudly. Harrison ordered him to be quiet as Patakas made a call over his communicator.

"Dispatch, this is Romeo Three Fiver. We need some air support at 1000 Elysian Park Drive. We've got a fugitive on foot and must be captured. Over."

The radio broadcasted back. "Roger Three Fiver. Air support is en route. ETA five minutes. Over."

"Copy that. Over and out."

Harrison glanced at his watch, 2:02am, then looked at the captain, who looked back at him, shaking his head and sighing. He looked tired.

"We were close, John."

"I know, Cap, I know," Harrison replied. He glanced over at Sanchez and Juan as Patakas continued to talk. Juan was hunched over a bit, covered in an old sarapé. Striker growled at them. Harrison sighed, furrowing his brows some. He arbitrarily pointed his flashlight at Juan, happening to light up his face. Juan turned from the light, being blinded by it. Harrison pursed his lips as he clicked off his flashlight. The image of the face remained in his mind for a moment. He had wide brown eyes and a moustache. Certainly different than most Mexicans he had come across. Harrison furrowed his brows more, mentally zooming in on the image he had of him. His nose was rather pronounced too...aquiline. An alarm went off in his head.

"...and he was pain in ass to chase down."

"Cap, Vicente's the gardener."

"What?" not sounding too happy at being interrupted in his story.

"He's the freakin' gardener. Sanchez! Sanchez! Get away from him! It's Vicente!!"

Sanchez turned, barely hearing what Harrison was yelling about. Harrison could just make out what was about to happen; their forms silhouetted from the numerous headlights of the police cars. Both Harrison and Striker bolted towards them. Patakas made the call on his communicator to warn the other cops, but it was already too late. Vicente stood up to his full height, pulling out Sanchez's gun and firing it at his face. The bullet splintered his lower jaw, then lodged itself where one of his molars were. When doctors went to take x-rays for the damage later that night, they discovered the tooth had been violently pushed into his skull, but it was that very thing that stopped the bullet from entering his brain. With Sanchez screaming in pain on the ground, the drug lord whipped out an Uzi from under his sarapé and fired a few shots at the ground, near Sanchez's legs. Numerous guns were cocked and pointed at Vicente as Harrison and Striker squared off against him. The Uzi was pointed at the squadron of police cars, the 9mm pointed at Harrison. He grinned evilly at Harrison as he cocked the pistol.

"So you're the bastard who killed my nephew. You are Officer John Harrison," spoke Vicente, his English very clear. Harrison nodded, wishing he had pulled out his pistol, but all he did was keep his hands up for now.

"Yeah, that's me Vicente. Why don't you put the gun down? You can't win here, not unless you want to be killed. Your sister will grieve even more. Do you really want that?"

"What I want...is to kill you. That's all...and I will too."

"Final warning, Vicente.."

Don Vicente looked at him a bit oddly, not quite expecting that reply. The look then disappeared, returning to the murderous grin.

"Adiós, cabrón."

"Fine...see you in hell. Striker. Fire attack!"

The Arcanine inhaled deeply and breathed out a large cone of fire. The heat was even more intense than Harrison recalled, but his mind was more on jumping out of the way of any bullets that might get discharged. The cone of fire was short, but effective. The sarapé immediately caught fire and any surface hair that was visible singed away to a crusted baldness. Several shots were fired, but the weapon was too hot to handle and he dropped it. Don Vicente then quickly removed the flaming sarapé as numerous other cops tackled him and took him down hard. Harrison leaned against the side of the house as Striker trotted over to him and started to lick his face. Harrison chuckled as he hugged his partner and scratched all about the head and behind the ears. Paramedics, who responded to the house's fire alarm, quickly went to Sanchez and worked on him. Eventually, they took him to the hospital, while Don Vicente was given the privilege of an armed escort in a squad car to the same place. There were still a number of cops milling about the residence, but it was over. The reign of terror had ended.

****************************

"Good morning, Los Angeles! This is Sharon Tay with KTLA Channel 5 News. The top story of the day: Big drug bust! One of L.A.'s biggest Columbian drug lords was captured at ten minutes past 2am this morning. The captured drug lord is Vicente Villalobos-Rodriguez. He is noted as being the patriarch of the crime family known as The Dark Wolves on the streets of our fair city. He and his operations are responsible for the deaths of sixteen of LAPD's finest; three of which were direct assassinations when he declared war on them when the Los Angeles police broke up a child prostitution ring some three months ago. The forth man who was also a target of these assassinations, Officer John Harrison and his K-9 partner, Striker, will be awarded with Medals of Honor by Mayor Riordan, later this afternoon. This will also be followed by a touching speech about the two officers that were killed during the raid: Officer Janice Parker and her K-9 partner, Jackson."

And now, stay tuned for other top stories, weather and sports, right here on KTLA Channel 5 News."

THE END